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Something spectacular.
Conrad claimed her mouth, boldly. Unapologetically.
He wrapped his arms around her, and Rory clung to him, kissing him back as he rose from the water and let it cascade all over them.
“Hold on,” he growled against her mouth.
An order. An invitation. She didn’t care which—she just wrapped her legs around his torso and clung on for dear life as he carried her out of the tub and over to the chaise they’d been lying on before.
He bore her down, coming down on top of her. Hard.
She could feel everything. His chest, crushing her into the chaise with that delirious weight of his. The wetness of their skin, cool against the summer night. The faint sprinkling of hair on his chest that seemed specifically put there to tease her poor, sensitive nipples.
He was so hard, so heavy, and best of all, she could feel his cock between them. It pressed hard against her belly, and Rory felt herself begin to shudder.
As if he didn’t have to be inside her to make her pussy so wet and hot, or the rest of her start to shake. As if this was enough.
Still he kissed her. Again and again, as if he couldn’t get enough.
The way she couldn’t get enough.
Rory kissed him, filled with thanks and emotion and art. All the parts of her she’d trotted out into the light and let him see. All that vulnerability and hope.
She kissed him as if her life depended on it.
As if she’d been living all this time completely unaware what her life was supposed to be, but his mouth on hers had revived her. Renewed her.
She’d started this night in the shadows outside his house and now she was here in his garden with him on top of her, and neither one of them was quite who she’d imagined they were when she’d come here.
And Rory knew that she would never be the same again.
“Reach up and grab the chair,” Conrad ordered her, that stern voice of his as authoritative as ever, if lanced through with the same fire she felt burn in her. “And hold on for dear life.”
Rory thought her heart might actually claw its way out of her own chest. She kept pulling in breaths as best she could, but they sounded like sobs.
But, of course, she obeyed him. She didn’t think twice about it—a far cry from how she’d started this evening with him. She reached up and grabbed hold of the slats, exulting in the way that made her back arch, so she could present her breasts to him. Because she knew he liked that.
Rory thought a person could spend a lifetime trying to please a man like this.
And loving every moment of it.
Because the way Conrad expressed his pleasure made her entire body quake, a new kind of hard-edged excitement that was already pulsing through her again.
While she’d been following his last order, he’d found another condom and was already rolling it on.
Conrad knelt above her on the chaise, then, and the look on his face was...savage. A kind of storm crashed through his eyes, but there was still that intense, glorious focus on his face.
Something in her melted at that. At the evidence that even when she pushed him, she was safe.
He moved between her legs and reached over to one of the tables beside the chaise. He pulled something out, a small tube, and squirted something into his hand. As he warmed it between his palms, the look he narrowed on her was...pitiless.
Ruthless straight through, and this time, Rory understood that the fear that made her shiver was as much anticipation as it was joy.
Sheer, unadulterated joy, in the middle of something that she’d expected would only ever be a game of charades to her. In theory.
Rory had expected Conrad would make her feel what she had that first evening, up against his wall. She’d expected he would give her more of that pleasure. She hadn’t anticipated that he would take so much in return.
Or that she would want so very, very badly to give it.
